


Hold Me in Your Arms

by its_noma



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Burns, Dancing and Singing, Gender-neutral Reader, Heated Makeout at the end, Kissing, Minor Injuries, Not Beta Read, Nothing too spicy tho, Other, Romantic Fluff, Slow Dancing, The brothers' usual antics, guess i'll die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23869432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_noma/pseuds/its_noma
Summary: The music from before is still playing, and its soft tune gives you an idea.“Dance with me,” you say.Lucifer’s brows raise in surprise. “I don’t understand. You said you couldn’t dance before during the retreat.”“Then help me get better,” you insist, standing up and making your way around his desk to where he sits in his chair. You hold out a hand, the bandaged one that he merely stares at before you realize and swiftly change to extend the other instead. “Please?”You notice how tired Lucifer has been lately with all his never-ending responsibilities. To get him away from his endless pile of reports, you ask him for a dance.
Relationships: Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Main Character/Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 316





	Hold Me in Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

> This time I was listening to "Put Your Head On My Shoulder but it's playing in another room + it's raining (1 hour version)" as I was writing this. I replayed it twice.
> 
> At first I didn't really like Lucifer when I was first starting to play Obey Me! But he's been growing on me as of late, so I thought _huh, maybe I can take the small burst of motivation to write something for him before the weekend ends_. Now we're here. And thanks to this, I actually like him more.
> 
> This is kind of a starkly ironic difference to him threatening you while dancing in the game, don't you think?

“Maaaammooooon.”

You wince, pausing in cooking the omelettes Beelzebub requested for breakfast at the sound of Lucifer’s voice upstairs. It’s loud and unyielding, even when you’re not in the same room. It isn’t long after that you hear Mammon’s shriek and stuttered responses that, without a doubt, all fall on deaf ears.

“Geez,” Leviathan huffs from his seat at the counter. He doesn’t look up from whatever he’s typing on his D.D.D. “Does that idiot ever _not_ get in trouble?”

Satan shakes his head with a disappointed sigh. “This is _Mammon_ we’re talking about. What do you think?”

“Of course not!” Asmodeus answers, dramatically reclining against Beelzebub’s shoulder, who is too hellbent on staring at the food you’re cooking to care. “I wish he’d just—”

Mammon’s desperate shout of your name cancels out whatever Asmodeus was planning on saying, and before you can even turn your head he’s crashing against your side. He wraps his arms and legs around you not unlike a koala does a bamboo branch, nearly causing the two of you to tumble to the floor if you hadn’t grabbed the stove.

Except said stove is _on_ in order to cook the omelettes, and is therefore _very_ hot. You yelp and snatch your hand away, wobbling without any help from Mammon’s extra weight. The two of you almost come crashing to the floor before you’re just barely saved by a hand firmly grasping your arm. You look to see Lucifer is your savior.

The others are no longer behind the counter and are instead crowding around you, numerous worried voices repeatedly saying your name and asking if you’re alright. Mammon is easily pulled off of you by an unsurprisingly pissed off Lucifer.

“I’m fine,” you finally answer, though your hand tingles with the leftover heat still licking at the tender skin. “Just a minor burn.”

Lucifer holds Mammon up by the back of his shirt, who flails and begs for mercy. None of the brothers allow him any reprieve, only glaring and muttering about how embarrassing it is having him as a brother. You frown.

“Hey, don’t be mean to Mammon,” you insist.

Mammon’s smile is so bright you almost have to shield your eyes, chuckling. “Why can’t you guys be like MC? At least they care about me!”

“Because MC is too nice and doesn’t realize how much of an idiot you are sometimes,” Asmodeus retorts, as if it’s obvious. Mammon pouts. “Lucifer, what’d he do this time?”

“Aside from the burn,” Leviathan chips in.

Lucifer sighs, sounding worn out and tired already. Beelzebub leads you to the sink to run some cool water over your hand to soothe the skin, but you find yourself staring at the obvious bags under Lucifer’s eyes even as you’re led away.

“I caught him attempting to sneak into my office again,” he explains. He glares at Mammon as he asks, “How many times do you have to get caught and taught the same lesson before you understand to _knock it off_?”

Mammon wails as he’s dragged away, and after a few beats of silence the other brothers sigh and return to the counter. Beelzebub tells you to stay at the sink, “I’ll finish making breakfast.” You smile and nod.

Despite your assurances that the burn isn’t that bad—it doesn’t even hurt anymore, _seriously_ —Satan insists on wrapping it with bandages. Asmodeus tells you to take it easy for the rest of the day and not strain said hand too much. Even Leviathan tells you not to do anything reckless or he won’t let you play games with him tomorrow, like the two of you had promised after your history exam.

You say you’ll be careful. But your thoughts continuously, without fail throughout the day, are drawn back to just how _tired_ Lucifer looked this morning. Has he not been sleeping a lot lately, or well? You understand his duties to the student council and being Diavolo’s right hand man, but surely he hasn’t been missing sleep over that, right? Aside from Asmodeus, he’s probably the one who takes the most care of himself. Seeing him look so worn out was—and still _is_ —concerning.

You try to brush it off. It was the morning; maybe he was hungry or had only just recently awoken. But every time you pass him going to and from class he still has that bone-tired look. He looks sharp and composed as always, that’s for sure—but you can see the strain behind his resolute eyes.

The others either don’t notice or don’t care enough to bring it up or do anything about it, much to your internal chagrin. You don’t want them to tease you and crack jokes about your “little crush on Lucifer” if you ask about his wellbeing; you already get enough jabs from Solomon whenever you go over to Purgatory Hall to visit him and the angels.

But you should check up on him. Just…just to see if he’s okay. Nothing more. It’s not like you want to spend a lot of time with him; it always ends with him giving an impromptu lecture about the exchange program and your responsibilities, but…

Eh, fuck it. If you’re going to get an unnecessary lecture, at least it’ll show that Lucifer’s back to normal.

Later, after dinner, you decline Mammon’s offer to pull a prank on Leviathan in order to stroll over to Lucifer’s office. The door is closed, but you can faintly hear music playing from inside. You find yourself smiling. It isn’t any music you’re familiar with—Devildom music almost completely foreign to you—but it’s soothing.

You almost don’t want to disturb Lucifer. It sounds like he’s doing his own thing in there, relaxing with the help of some good music.

You’re about to turn and walk back to your room when Lucifer calls, “I know you’re there, MC. Come in.”

Well, shit. How does Lucifer always seem to just _know_ everything? You inhale to steel your nerves, hoping it’ll calm down your suddenly racing heart, and turn the doorknob. You push it open and step into his room, the door clicking shut behind you.

Lucifer is sitting at his desk, writing what you can only assume is yet another one of his never-ending reports. Just how many of those does he have to write? It seems as though, every time you drop by, he’s chipping away at a whole new stack of reports. Does he ever get a break?

“Is there something you needed?” Lucifer asks.

His amused voice brings you out of your worried thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment. You fiddle with the bandages laced over your hand.

His eyes stray down to glance at them. Before you can respond, he inquires, “How is your hand?”

“Oh,” you say, then clear your throat, feeling like a dumbstruck idiot as you answer, “It’s good. It hasn’t hurt since this morning, but the others insisted I keep it bandaged…”

Lucifer nods. “Well, I’m glad it’s okay then.” He sighs, running a gloved hand through his hair. You can’t help how your eyes follow the movement. “I’m sorry for Mammon’s rash behavior. He acts without thinking, though I’m sure you’re well-acquainted with that by now.”

You laugh. “Yeah. But I don’t really mind it.”

He raises a brow, lips curling up ever so slightly. “I see. That’s interesting.”

You shrug. You’ve never been bothered by Mammon’s antics. He’s like an overly eager puppy in your eyes sometimes; easily excitable and unaware of his own presence and the chaos it causes.

Lucifer clears his throat when you don’t say anything, gesturing with a hand at one of the chairs in front of his desk for you to sit down. You hesitate for a moment before coming closer.

Once you’ve taken a seat, he asks again, “Is there something you needed?”

You play with the bandages again. “I noticed something this morning.”

He shifts in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “And what was that?”

“Lucifer,” you begin, then chew on the inside of your cheek as you think over how you want to say this. “Are you…tired?”

Silence. Lucifer stares at you with a blank expression before it gradually morphs into confusion, brows furrowed. Then his lips quirk up ever so slightly.

“Are you worried about me?” he inquires.

Ding ding. Correct! But you don’t say that; instead you look down at your feet, face burning hot and probably as red as Lucifer’s vest.

His following warm, low chuckle draws your gaze back up to meet his. “I appreciate your concern, MC. But I’m fine.”

“The bags under your eyes say otherwise,” you remark, then quickly slap a hand over your mouth, eyes widening at your carelessness.

Lucifer stares at you in growing amusement. “Always so observant, aren't we?”

“...Sorry,” you quietly apologize.

He shakes his head. “No, no. I’ll forgive you just this once. But is that really all you’re here for? To check up on me?”

Your silence is all the answer he needs.

You had imagined this interaction going differently, if you’re being honest here. Then again, that’s what you _always_ think to yourself whenever you’re sitting in front of Lucifer, unable to speak like a normal human being in his presence each. And. Every. Time. Aggravation bubbles in the pit of your stomach, not at him but yourself and your blatant inability to maintain _some_ form of conversation with the man you like.

He leans back against his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t understand you, human.”

You roll your eyes. “Like I’m an expert.”

He chuckles. “I figured you would be, all things considering.”

You really should be an expert on yourself and your odd habits, but the more time you spend down here in the Devildom, the more you feel like a completely different person than you were back in the human world. It’s both unnerving and exhilarating.

Shit, off topic. Lucifer always does this. He always manages to steer any conversation away from himself and onto you.

You won’t falter. “ _Are_ you tired? When was the last time you got a proper night’s sleep?”

“Last night,” Lucifer answers briskly.

You can never tell if he’s lying or telling the truth. Damn him.

“If that’s all you’re here for, I’d much rather you wait until morning so I can finish these reports,” he continues, gesturing with a cock of his head to the papers neatly organized on his desk.

You shake your head. The music from before is still playing, and its soft tune gives you an idea.

“Dance with me,” you say.

Lucifer’s brows raise in surprise. “I don’t understand. You said you couldn’t dance before during the retreat.”

“Then help me get better,” you insist, standing up and making your way around his desk to where he sits in his chair. You hold out a hand, the bandaged one that he merely stares at before you realize and swiftly change to extend the other instead. “Please?”

He opens his mouth as if to deny you. You’re expecting it, really. A firm “No, now leave before I make you” is far more common than the unreadable look he gives your hand as he studies it.

Finally he pushes back his chair and stands up. “You’re not giving me any choice here, I see. Alright. I suppose a little dancing couldn’t hurt.”

You’re really giving him _every_ choice here, from flat out denial to begrudging acceptance to everything else along the spectrum. But you don’t point this out. Instead you smile as his hand slides into yours, leading you towards the center of the room where it’s open and clear of any furniture.

His free hand slides to your waist, and in response you bring yours to his shoulder. Lucifer smiles as he begins to lead, working through your awkward fumbling before you’ve set up a nice, easy flow. The calming music allows for a slow, tender exchange. You’re glad he isn’t listening to something more upbeat; you’d be dancing all over his feet for sure.

“You are a strange human being,” he suddenly comments after twirling you, having to catch you as you nearly lose your balance and fall over. He raises a brow at your responding giggles. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” you say.

You’re not sure why you’re laughing. You’re just…oddly happy right now. Dancing like this in the dim light of his room, soothed by his quiet music, you’re filled with an odd sense of tranquility. A feeling that you _belong,_ even when you’re still so far away from home.

Lucifer only watches, bringing you back up to twirl you again. This time you don’t stumble.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he implores.

Maybe your guard is lowered by the odd domesticity of this moment, because you answer honestly, “Yes.”

“I see,” Lucifer murmurs.

You two continue dancing for a while longer after that in silence, outside of the music playing. Usually silence in Lucifer’s office means you’re in trouble and fills you with discomfort, but this is far from that. Instead you’re relaxed and pleasantly warm. You know this isn’t really doing anything in regards to the bags under his eyes, but at least he’s not slaving over his reports, even if only for a few minutes.

The album of whatever he has playing slowly comes to an end, and you’re left still slowly dancing to nothing. Lucifer begins slowing you two to a standstill, but you refuse to be stopped, instead attempting to twirl him. The disadvantage of his superior height leaves you with failure, though it derives a chuckle from him.

“You should’ve known that wouldn’t work,” he teases.

You roll your eyes but continue moving. Lucifer doesn’t stop you. “Yeah, yeah.”

“The music is gone,” he points out. “Aren’t you done?”

“Do you want to be done?”

He purses his lips. A smirk takes hold of them as he responds, “No, but if you insist on continuing, you have to provide the music.”

You falter, stepping on his foot. He hisses through grit teeth but brushes off your quick apology. Finally you let him slow the two of you to a complete stop.

“I don’t know any Devildom music,” you explain nervously. “At least, none I know by heart. And I left my D.D.D. charging in my room—”

“Sing some human world music for me then,” Lucifer decides with a shrug. “You have to know plenty, yes?”

You do. You _know_ you do, but the sudden confrontation has any and every song you’ve ever listened to flying out the window. Even, your singing isn’t that good. There’s a reason you hadn’t majored in vocal music.

“Don’t be shy,” Lucifer persists. “Any song will do.”

He begins swinging the two of you around the room again, purposefully leaving the lead up to you as you fumble to try and think of a song, _any_ song. All that comes to mind is an old song your parents used to dance to late at night when you were younger and supposed to be sleeping.

No, that’s too intimate. Too intimate to be singing for while dancing with…with the guy you like.

Lucifer squeezes your hip. “Well?”

“Okay, okay,” you cave.

You take in a shaky breath, releasing only it and unfortunately _none_ of the anxiety lighting up your nerves like a Christmas tree.

_Put your head on my shoulder_

Lucifer raises a brow as your voice shakes but doesn’t say anything. You can’t focus on singing and leading all at once, so he takes over once you establish a tempo to dance to.

_Hold me in your arms_

_Baby_

_Squeeze me oh so tight_

_Show me that you love me too_

Your entire body feels like it’s directly under the sun’s scrutiny, burning up and sweating like a sinner in church. Ironic, considering where you are.

Lucifer squeezes your hand this time. You’re thankful he’s still wearing gloves so he can’t feel how sweaty your hand is.

_Put your lips next to mine, dear_

_Won't you kiss me once,_

_Baby?_

_Just a kiss goodnight,_

_Maybe_

_You and I will fall in love…_

You’re glad this song luckily isn’t that long. Even so it feels like an eternity, but eventually your voice evens out. Lucifer smiles as you slowly gain confidence, though meeting his eyes has you stumbling over a note and ducking your head in horror over the slip-up.

By the time you’re done you’re breathless, chest nearly heaving. It wasn’t even a long song; it wasn’t even a hard dance. But you’ve never actively sang in front of someone else before, let alone someone like _Lucifer_. It’s an entirely new experience that leaves you lightheaded.

Lucifer dips you one last time. “Not bad.”

You only manage a tired smile before he pulls you back up. He leads you back to the chair you’d been sitting in before, and you sink into it gratefully.

“Your athleticism is lacking,” he comments as he kneels down beside you.

You glare at him, though there’s no real heat behind it. “Shut up. I’ve never sang and danced at the same time, let alone in front of someone like you.”

He gives you an amused look, lips curled up in an unsurprisingly knowing grin. “Someone like me?”

“You know.” You twirl your wrist for emphasis, the gesture making no sense even to you. “You know, like…you know.”

“I don’t know,” he corrects. “Elaborate for me.”

You huff in frustration. “This was meant to be about you and your eyebags, you know.”

“Yet you wanted to dance,” he quips. “How was that supposed to help?”

“It got you away from your papers,” you say.

He pauses, glancing at the pile abandoned on his desk. He moves to stand, only to be stopped when you grab a hold of his hand. He stares down at the bandages wrapped around yours and stays put.

“That it did,” he agrees.

You smile. By now you’ve cooled down and feel like cotton isn’t lodged in your lungs, instead flooded with that odd feeling of domesticity again. This scene reminds you of your parents, especially when Lucifer tenderly squeezes your bandaged hand and brings it to his lips.

“You must be tired after all that,” he murmurs against your covered skin. He smirks as your hand twitches as soon as his lips press against it. “I’d suggest going to bed early tonight to make up for it.”

You frown. “Shouldn’t _you_ be the one sleeping early? Mr. Eyebags.”

He gives you an unyielding look that only makes you more stubborn.

“Would a ‘ _kiss goodnight_ ’ suffice in getting you to go to bed?” he implores.

You yank your hand out of his grasp as if burned— _again_ —and he laughs. You hold your offended hand to your chest as he stands up.

“I’m only teasing,” he says. Then, softer, “But you _do_ deserve a thank you. I had a fun time.”

“Getting you out of your chair was all the thanks I needed,” you insist.

He shakes his head. “No, no. Stand up.”

Tentative, you do so. Lucifer gently pries your bandaged hand away from your chest and opens it up, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your palm. Your sharp inhale causes him to glance up at you.

“Was that not to your liking?” he asks. “I could try somewhere else.”

What the fuck. What the _fuck._ What is _happening_? Lucifer is just…openly pressing kisses to your hands now? The first one you had thought was an illusion, but now… 

A hand rests gently on your cheek, angling your head back to peer up at him. You swallow, eyes darting down to his lips before your face heats up and you resolutely turn your eyes back up to his.

Lucifer smiles, something unreadable in his gaze. He leans down, and you quickly squeeze your eyes shut in anticipation for…for _whatever_ it is he’s about to do.

His lips pressed to your forehead isn’t what you’re expecting. Your eyes fly open to look at him in confusion as he pulls away.

“What?” He brushes his thumb along the skin of your cheek, just barely brushing your bottom lip. It takes all your strength to resist the urge to lick your lips after. “Disappointed?”

Can this get any more demeaning? You begin pulling away, but Lucifer draws you back in with a hand pressed to the small of your back.

“Let me try again then,” he offers.

You find yourself nodding in spite of yourself, and then finally, _finally_ his lips press against yours, firm and careful. You’re almost ashamed at how quickly you melt into it.

It’s over before you can do much else than just stand there and take it. Lucifer pulls back, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

With a soft hum, he asks again, “Was that to your liking?”

What— _was that to your liking_? The fuck? Is that even a question?

Apparently it is, because Lucifer doesn’t tack on a teasing remark, instead waiting for an answer. You shift from foot to foot, suddenly self-conscious. You can’t stop your tongue from coming out to lick your lips, which Lucifer’s eyes dart down to stare at. You swallow thickly.

“I don’t know,” you ponder. “Could you…do it again so I can have a solid answer for you?”

Lucifer chuckles. “Of course.”

He leans down once more, but before he can capture your lips again you press a hand to his chest. “Wait.”

He stops instantaneously. “Yes?”

“You’re not gonna go back to your reports after this, are you?” you ask.

He pulls back to look at you, bemused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Then”—suddenly emboldened, you grasp his tie and pull him down to your height. His hands fall to your hips to steady himself—“I guess I have to try harder, huh?”

You don’t sound nearly as confident as you had hoped, but Lucifer chuckles regardless and claims your lips in a longer, more heated kiss. You tangle your hands in his hair, as silky and soft as you’ve always imagined it to be, pushing forward and crowding into his space like a man stranded in a desert is desperate for water. Lucifer chuckles at your eagerness against the seam of your lips.

When you two finally part, he agrees, “I suppose you’ll have to.”

  
It’s a challenge then. You’re not planning on backing down if it means getting Lucifer to abandon his reports and finally rest earlier than usual, even if you have to go through a few more… _athletic_ …hoops to get there. But you don’t mind. With Lucifer’s lips on yours, body pressed firm against his, you don’t want to be anywhere else.

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone who made it this far, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
